


And So, I Bite My Tail / With a Tongue Full of Ash and a Mouth Full of Scorn

by Mythonik



Category: Hollow Knight (Video Games)
Genre: Accidental Baby Acquisition, Accidentally Going Too Far Back In Time - Freeform, Child Neglect, Fluff and Humor, Gen, Ghost is Tired (Hollow Knight), Hijinks & Shenanigans, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Embrace the Void Ending (Hollow Knight), Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies, Time Travel, Worldbuilding, but only briefly
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-05
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-19 01:23:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29867031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mythonik/pseuds/Mythonik
Summary: The Shade Lord brought back those who were sacrificed without reason.Void defied Death, and with Void the Dreamers were returned, with Void the Five Great Knights were restored.Void defied Time.And with Void, the Ghost went back.Too far back.
Relationships: The Knight & The Pale King (Hollow Knight)
Comments: 60
Kudos: 99





	1. It Started with a Question

**Author's Note:**

> This internship semester is kicking my ass. The only thing keeping me going is worldbuilding, fluff, and my graduation in May. I figured it was time to release this into the wild and maybe brighten someone's day, too
> 
> I hope you enjoy!
> 
> _*Not beta read_

Ghost had been warned time and time again to not trust Monomon or her experiments by more than one trustworthy source.

_“She will steal bits of your mask and try to pinpoint your unique essence from it,” sighed Lurien, alone in his spire and dusting his telescope. “Still a great distraction in social events, mind you.”_

_“Monomon has proven that intelligence doesn't equate to wisdom," chuckled Herrah, fixing the tangled webs in her den and stealing little looks at the potted delicate flower sitting pretty on her plinth._

_“My Madam wishes to understand the world around us,” said Quirrel, thick journal in hand and quill quickly sketching the many odd plants of Greenpath, “and what makes it tick.”_

_“Wise Monomon is not someone to trifle with,” nodded Hegemol, polishing his rusted armor and barely fitting inside his new home in Dirtmouth, “lest you wish to end with a nail made of rubber.”_

_“Le’mer, Che’ quivers in the mantle of the Teacher,” shuddered Ze’mer, her antenna fluttering between drooped and upright, “be wary of her grasp, curious mind can corrupt just as swift.”_

_"Madam Monomon? Ohoho, yes, I have made her acquaintance many times!" Laughed Ogrim, claws spreading, ahem, 'fertilizer' atop the few crops Dirtmouth had planted. "Curious and bold like His Majesty!"_

_"Keep your guard raised and senses open, young knight," ordered Dryya, elegant nail mercilessly stabbing a wooden dummy in its chest, "flooded in acid it may be, yet I rather drench myself in its burn than delve into the Archives."_

_"Madam Monomon is of a brilliant mind," grinned Isma, twisting her vines into intricate shapes and humming to the tune of the hissing acid below. “There is little she doesn’t know, and her role as the kingdom’s knowledge keeper is an important job, young one.”_

**_“Monomon?”_ ** _Their older sibling tilted their head, horns dipping to the side until they straightened up again and resumed polishing the piece of armor in their grasp._ **_“She and Father spoke often, though argued for most of it.”_ **

_“Monomon is as intelligent as she is dangerous,” grumbled Hornet, digging her sewing needle into their tallest sibling’s ripped cloak and pulling the reinforced silk out the other side. “Be wary, she may try to turn you into another experiment.”_

_“The Teacher?” Hummed Grimm, claws stroking the Grimmchild in his grasp in thought. “I met her once or twice in the past - her knowledge is vast, but her thirst for it rivals that of the flames to a dying kingdom.”_

Now don’t get them wrong; they appreciated the scientist and even loved to visit her and Quirrel in the Teacher’s Archives - _without_ Grimmchild. It was just that Monomon had a certain… intensity about her that reminded Ghost of the Mask Maker in Deepnest.

Dedicated.

Maniacal. 

Obsessed to a lesser degree. 

Monomon was free in spirit and mind. She refused to abide by the standards and went where no bug ever went before - with the obvious exception of one other, daring to explore and dig up that which didn’t want to be discovered.

Of course, this last bit of information came from word of mouth. Those who had actually met the jellyfish before knew of her typical antics - Ghost only knew the stories secondhand by overhearing them from their spot on the bench beside the transit station. 

Which is why when she had sent a sealed summoning letter their way via Stag Mail, the knight had seen no problem in answering her call and heading down to Queen's Station.

Again, without Grimmchild, who pouted at being left behind with Brumm. Their mask still felt sore from last time’s countless Ooma cores to the face, so the begging eyes had little effect on the knight.

Ghost carefully hopped down from wet ledge to wet ledge, paws clinging tight to squishy vines to keep from slipping off the sides and taking a nasty tumble down into the gorge below. They flew over floating Uomas, took their time inching around Oomas, and dashed through clouds of charged lumaflies at precisely the right moment. Only once did they trip on a vine and faceplant on an empty ooma bubble.

Overall, Ghost considered it a pretty good journey so far.

They padded through a narrow tunnel and came upon the final cliff overlooking the flatland of the Archives. The bronze sheen of the building glimmered bright in the unnatural purple glow of the canyon, glittering pretty amidst the floating bubbles and beckoning Ghost forward. 

The knight moved back a few steps away from the edge and took a running start, overshooting the rock outcrops meant to help them down and landing atop a spongy bush on their back. They felt themselves dip into the greenery, smooth leaves and branches cushioning their body like a pillow, before the bush spat them back out to land a few yards away on their feet. 

Ghost brushed stray leaves and dew drops off their cloak. They nodded in satisfaction when everything clinging to them fell at their feet, pleased that they had managed to not rip the new cloak Hornet had personally made for them, and continued their unhurried pace on the faded path. 

When they reached the tall archway leading into the Archives proper, Ghost looked up at the clusters of Oomas floating serenely above the dome and briefly wondered what it would be like to be like them.

Carefree.

Simple-minded.

Weightless.

Just floating on by wherever the currents took them, going with the flow of the canyon and simply existing in place.

Not a single care in the world other than a rampant knight accidentally popping their bubble.

Must be nice.

Not that Ghost would ever trade their life for that of an Ooma.

Theirs was an exciting life; a life with incredible power and responsibility on their shoulders that they managed with all the grace of a frenzied Oblobble; a life that they had fought hard to keep from the Abyss and smothered the Old Light to prolong.

Yeah, the Oomas could keep bobbing in place, merry and free. 

Ghost had an appointment with Monomon and Quirrel, and surely they would present them with something much more fun than these bubble creatures could handle. 

Which brought Ghost back to the current present.

Standing inside the Teacher’s Archives.

In a wide room hissing with acid coursing dangerously fast through the pipes in the walls.

And staring at an odd contraption Monomon was giddily fretting over. 

“The Madam has been like this all morning,” Quirrel idly commented as he came to stand by Ghost, clipboard in hand and quill tapping a staccato beat on the metal. The pillbug chuckled quietly to himself and looked down at his notes in contemplation. 

“Needles within parameters, Madam?” He called to the former Dreamer, quill poised to tick off a box from the long list of steps his clipboard held. 

The jellyfish flitted to the bulbous side of the machine where a multitude of valves and pressure gauges chirped and huffed thick clouds of steam. “Set!” Monomon replied. Her tentacles fiddled with a few handwheel valves, twisting and turning them in a way that made absolutely no sense for Ghost but would probably keep the whole machine from blowing up the way Flukemarm had.

What a disgusting adventure that had been. 

The charm hadn’t even been worth it.

Ghost wandered off to explore the room while Quirrel went down the list with Monomon for the finishing touches. They kept their paws to themselves as they took in the odd sights.

The machine itself looked like one of the eggs down in the Abyss, spherical and glossy with a metallic finish that reflected everything off its smooth surface. Thick and thin cables descended from the ceiling to connect to multiple ports on either flank of the contraption. Towards the back and top of the sphere, a pair of long tubes were inserted into two larger ports that resembled antennae on a bug’s head. Hundreds of lumaflies buzzed angrily inside each tank and crackled violently in the tight space. Clearly displeased, they pitter-pattered their tiny bodies against the thick glass of the tube in retaliation against their confinement. 

Ghost walked up to a colorful array of buttons on a counter beside the machine. Some buttons glowed steady and bright, others not at all, and most were flashing intermittently. The knight didn't know what any of them were for, but the rhythmic pattern itched at their hands and made them want to slap every single button on the array just to see what happened.

Ghost chose to wisely remove themselves from the impulsive temptation and made their way to the long and cluttered bench pushed up against the farthest wall. Parchment scrolls and stone tablets were pinned to the walls in front of the workstation, depicting crude diagrams and hastily sketched assemblies for the machine behind them. Tools of all kinds lay scattered along one end of the long table, and the other was drowning in papers and thick journals stained an odd black at their spines and covers.

Ghost didn't need to be an expert to immediately pick up on the faint tug of the Void coating the books.

_Nope. Not doing that again._

They promptly turned around once more and wandered back to Quirrel, who had either not noticed they left at some point or was numbing to his notes again.

"- and the drum of the device is powered by the electrical charge of the lumaflies. We needed a renewable and non-extinguishable source, and at first we had considered using a system similar to hydrolysis, but the acid would prove too potent for any amount of water to chemically balance the solution - not to mention the potential for explosion! It wasn't until Madam Monomon mentioned how her motorized tank was powered by charge from agitated lumaflies did we realize the benefits of electricity paired with constant acid inflow _and_ a self-sustained water pump to stimulate the drum into -" 

Ghost stared blankly at the pillbug. 

"Er, well, um, technical explanations can wait. Madam Monomon is ready to speak with you." 

Ghost nodded.

Quirrel tucked his clipboard under his arm and motioned for the knight to follow him. They stepped up onto the dais where the machine rested and Monomon floated, mask somehow eager and excited despite not being able to move.

"Young Knight!" The former Dreamer greeted, dipping her head briefly in respect before clasping her front two tentacles together. "I have found a solution!"

Ghost tilted their head. They raised their paws from inside their cloak and signed.

'A solution?'

Monomon floated back and to the side to present the machine as if Ghost hadn't already seen it. Her tentacle patted the glossy finish proudly.

"You asked whatever could have gone wrong in the past to make the future so," she said, looking away from their creation to meet the knight's eyes. "This machine will present an answer to that question!" 

Ghost approached the machine themselves and touched a curious paw to it. The black coating seemed to thrum to life under their touch, warm yet cold and familiar.

Wait a second.

Was this -

'Void?'

Monomon nodded eagerly. 

"Yes, we engrossed the shell with void to boost its compositional properties. Void defies time, and if our calculations are correct down to the smallest decimal, then we can use this as a window to the past."

"An opportunity to see what went wrong in Hallownest," Quirrel added, coming up to stand beside the knight. He placed his free hand on their shoulder, sensing their small companion needed a moment to process the information given.

Ghost drew their hand back from the metal finish, paw trembling when the void yearned back for their touch, and made a point of moving away from it.

'Is it safe?'

Teacher and apprentice eyed one another, debating something unspoken between themselves before Quirrel nodded the slightest bit. 

Monomon glided over to the switchboard. 

"It is safe, in theory," she started, tentacles poking and prodding and flipping buttons and switches on the panel. "A regular bug like Quirrel or Princess Hornet may theoretically be safe within the drum, but we have no way of calculating for certain if they would suffer side-effects such as poisoning via Void exposure upon their return."

Quirrel reached for the door of the machine and pulled it open. The oiled latches hissed a puff of steam at the temperature disparity between the warm Archives and the freezing drum. 

"We have tested with inanimate objects," Quirrel began, tossing his clipboard inside and clicking the door shut again. He moved away from the device and steered Ghost away with him to stand behind a yellow line on the floor that the knight hadn't noticed. "We select a reset time and activate the machine to displace the object, but then we must wait for the water pump to cool down the drum for a few hours before we can retrieve the test subject."

Monomon activated the necessary controls in the panel and held her tentacle against the last switch, ready to pull the lever and activate the sequence.

"The objects return intact," she continued, catching Ghost's attention as she gestured to the sealed drum. "No visible or compositional disparities between when they left and when they arrived."

Ghost stood as tall as they could to catch a glimpse of the clipboard within the machine. 

'But you said none of them are alive, right?'

The Teacher nodded again. 

"They remain stagnant in place, so the retrieval process remains a variable Quirrel is working on solving. Would the retrieval process work the same if the object moved a mile from its original coordinates? We don't know yet."

Ghost stiffened at the idea of anyone being forever trapped in a time not their own without any chance of ever being able to return.

"But we are looking into an ancient seal to give to the traveler," Quirrel's hand returned to Ghost's tense shoulder, smiling under his mask when the knight relaxed fractionally under the friendly touch. "It acts like a beckon, and it won't allow for the bearer to be lost from those whose eyes have seen the seal."

'You mentioned something about side-effects,' Ghost asked Monomon, 'what are those?'

The former Dreamer heaved a soft sighed. The air about her turned morose and grieving, but she drew to her full height and began to explain.

"Void is a primordial substance - older than quite possibly anything in the realms. Its hidden threats remain so because of the lack of proper tools to study it, but the effects it has on mortal bugs has been documented almost extensively in the past.

"Entities - whether bug or not, mind you - who are not Void to some extent and have had constant unmitigated exposure to the Void for years on end suffer radical illness and decomposition while still alive."

Ghost shuffled closer to a silent Quirrel in horror. 

"Those who work with it and handle Void for long hours begin to develop a corrosive miasma. No protection means your mask and claws begin to develop stains of Void as the substance makes itself at home under your shell or skin. If the void continues to collect underneath the afflicted bug's shell, they will die of acute trauma when the Void begins to corrode and eat away at the bug from the inside out. Should attention be given immediately after an on-set of symptoms, the bug's chances of survival are higher and most of the damage can be mitigated."

Ghost pulled at Quirrel's arm, signing hurriedly with their other hand.

'Void affect you, work machine?'

Quirrel quickly understood what they were trying to say and shook his head. 

"No, of course not, little buddy. Madam Monomon and I used specialized suits."

Ghost stared at the assistant. 

"The Pale King was an avid researcher of the Void," Monomon gently interjected, not quite sure yet how to breach the subject of the former monarch. "It is how he made the Kingsmoulds and Wingmould. His body could handle high exposures to unfiltered Void, but the research teams that would accompany him were weaker than he. He created whole-body suits infused with high quantities of Soul to deter the Void's corruption for them, and he gifted plenty to the Archives in the event we wished to take up research into the Ancient Civilization that once lived far below."

The knight remained still for a beat.

There it was again.

The Pale King.

They weren't free from it in Dirtmouth, what with their siblings sharing stories about life in the White Palace, and it seemed they wouldn't be free from it here either.

Pity.

Ghost could do without having to spare an ounce of their attention towards the disgraced ruler. 

Their hold on Quirrel slackened as they nodded in understanding.

'So Quirrel and Hornet could grow sick inside the machine?'

"Yes."

'What about me?'

"Yourself?"

'Void entity.'

Monomon raised a tentacle to her mask, stroking it in thought as she mulled over the proposition.

"Would you be willing to volunteer yourself for this experiment?" She finally asked, part of her eager for the little vessel to say yes and another part of her loathing the idea by the second. 

'If it would be safer for everyone, yes.'

"The machine harnesses Void to a degree that we can bend time-space for a few seconds," Quirrel mumbled, his own hand tapping the chin of his mask. "It would make it more potent should a creature of Void be used to traverse back."

Monomon's whole being flared up in sudden realization. "The variables shift and perhaps we can minimize the use of Void being fed into the drum," she shot back, tentacles already reaching for a piece of parchment to note her hypotheses down. 

"Less Void being fed into the drum…"

"... The lesser the margin of error!" 

Ghost looked back and forth between Teacher and apprentice as they kept throwing ideas at each other. 

"Reducing the input of Void increases the control over the drum."

"Thereby negating a cataclysmic situation of Void supplementing Void."

"Strain and overheating of the drum could be reduced by 16%."

"Water pump efficiency increases by 12."

"Hydrolysis…"

The knight quickly grew bored of their complicated chatter and turned away again. They quickly became aware of the fact that Monomon had never released the switch to initiate the jump sequence. 

They padded over to the control panel, gently poked the tentacle away the more immersed Monomon became with variable this and relativity that, and hovered an uncertain paw over the switchboard.

All voices and hisses and chugging of machinery melted away as hollow eyes regarded the intimidating machine.

They were so close to it.

So, so, so close to an opportunity that would grant them a forbidden peek into the past.

A true opportunity so close to being completed that would allow Ghost to learn what had been forgotten.

A true opportunity to maybe save their sibling from a terrible fate and give Hornet the mother she had so desperately missed. 

And if all else failed…

Well.

Then Ghost had no qualms with challenging the Radiance again before her infection caused the king to drown his unborn children in Void. 

They turned back to the switch.

"Are you willing to flip it?"

Ghost jumped at the sudden noise above them, one hand already reaching for their nail and the other shooting off the switch to avoid accidentally triggering it. 

Quirrel laughed and held his hands up in surrender.

"I'm sorry, friend," he said, clearly smiling under his mask, "Madam Monomon left to begin the equations, but it seems you wish to activate the sequence."

Ghost dropped their paws and looked down, feelings of shame coiling around their inside at being caught. 

"Of course, even if she is not here, I am still a perfectly valid supervisor," the pillbug continued, moving to stand behind the thick safety screen beside the control panel. 

The knight watched in confusion as Quirrel trotted away.

Supervisor?

For wha -

Oh.

_Oooh._

_OH!_

Ghost quickly jumped up onto the counter and slapped the switch down. The light under the button flared a cheerful green and they scampered to catch up with Quirrel behind the shield. They crowded just behind the lip of it, peeking around the thick iron to keep the machine in full view.

At first, the contraption didn't so much as twitch. It remained stagnant on the dais as the seconds ticked by. The lumaflies kept buzzing mad in their tubes and the many cables hung limp. Ghost was beginning to feel a touch disappointed when the constant thumping from the wall behind them suddenly began to rise in tempo.

Cables jerked in place, twitching and pulsing eerily familiar as the beast awoke. A series of crank gears started to roll alongside the moving cables, and Ghost watched in amazement how the pipes along the ceiling began to glow brighter as acid was redirected to feed into the tubes on one side of the machine. Steam erupted from pressure relief valves mounted on the back of the sphere, whistling high and shrill alongside the hissing of acid chugging through cables.

On the other end, the cables connecting the machine to the ceiling pipes remained still. They didn't shake, they didn't twitch, they didn't even sway back and forth like a normal limp cable would, and Ghost couldn’t help but think that they looked disturbingly out of place when compared to the hustle and bustle of the left side.

They were about to question Quirrel about it when they felt an odd tugging sensation in their chest. Their paw pressed over the Void Heart, confused as to why the charm felt like it was stirring in place. It only ever acted up whenever they practiced their shade spells, or when they went to deliver the occasional delicate flower to the bowels of the Abyss. Ghost couldn’t see any reason as to why the charm would be urging them to step out from behind the safety screen. 

“Are you alright?”

Ghost looked up at Quirrel. His eyes were glued to the action ahead and his hand hovered over a big red button at his side, but his attention had shifted to his short companion when they hunched over in what looked to be like pain. 

They nodded in lieu of signing and straightened their stance, paw dropping from the Void Heart and mind trying to ignore what was happening quite literally under their mask. 

The unmoving cables had started to undulate ever so slightly, drawing their focus back to them and away from the now buzzing charm. Their rippling movements seemed to feed a substance into the machine, and it was only until Ghost saw a familiar ichor enter the drum did they realize that the reason their whole being was behaving so oddly was because there was void being pumped into the machine.

That answered _that_ question. 

A droning hum rattled cables and pressure valves into a discordant melody. Void covered the window of the drum's door as acid stopped being pumped under the outer metal layer, and the faint whirring noise of what Ghost assumed to be the water pumps joined the cacophony with a soft _click_.

"Alright, needles looking steady and shell holding," Quirrel mumbled, stealing a glance to the bolted pipes above. The hand hovering over the red button left its place to close around a lever beside it. "And now for the big finale!" 

Ghost barely had time to see Quirrel pull the lever down before a piercingly loud _CRACK_ and bright flash of blue-white light blinded them. They scrubbed their paws over their eyes and forced themselves to see the roaring machine in their disorientation. 

The lumafly tubes they had forgotten about were glowing bright in their intensity. Electric bolts arched off the thick glass, striking the insulation of the cables and webbing across the glossy finish of the drum. A shrill whine grew louder and louder to the point where Ghost felt the void under their cloak curdle and tremble, and just when they were about to pounce on the emergency stop button, the inside of the machine shrieked bloody murder.

And then silence.

Silence so heavy it weighed on Ghost and made them feel like they had gone deaf.

The only way they knew they hadn't was through the gentle tick-tick-ticking from the relief valves clicking open, the sad whine coming from the lumafly tubes slumping in exhaustion, and the soft hiss of steam escaping the pressurized tubes. 

Quirrel, dressed in a strange full-body suit that glowed white, cheerfully skirted around the knight and went straight to the drum's door. He unlatched the security clasps and pulled it open, peeking inside and chirping a pleased noise at what he found.

"Clipboard's gone!"

Ghost snapped themselves from their amazed trance and dashed over. They jumped onto the dais and pushed their head inside the drum, horns bumping the inside as they patted around for the clipboard themselves.

Gone.

It was _gone._

It was _really_ gone.

It was like nothing had ever been inside the drum before.

Ghost hopped down from the machine and barely managed to sign coherently in their excitement.

'It worked!'

Quirrel grinned and nodded. He shut the door back and resealed the latches, patting the warm yet cold machine and stepping down from the dais. 

"Yes, it really did work magnificently," he sighed, flicking buttons and levers from the switchboard into a standby position. "Now we only need wait a few hours for the water pumps to cool the system and the lumaflies to recharge before we can attempt to retrieve the item."

Ghost was bouncing on the pads of their feet at the implications.

They _had_ to tell their siblings about this.


	2. So Long, So Long

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Breaking the news isn't easy - both to others, and yourself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone who's given this fic the time of day! 
> 
> The exposition is coming to an end soon - hopefully we can get into the good stuff by chapter 4. Chapter 2 grew into a whopping 7.4k+ words, so I made the decision to split it into two separate ones. The other half should go up later this week after some editing. 
> 
> That aside, I hope you enjoy!

"Absolutely not."

It really hadn't been the smartest idea to tell Hornet first.

Their fellow vessel would have been a better option, if they weren't busy nursing a healing crack on their mask after having bumped into the doorway.

Again.

They _really_ needed to find a new home in Dirtmouth with a higher ceiling threshold unless they wanted this to keep happening.

Maybe they could ask Elderbug later -

"Are you listening?!"

Ghost very carefully concealed their flinch of fright and nodded quickly.

Their sister narrowed her eyes at them, the broadside of her needle pointed their way in a silent threat before she lowered it to lean against the low table. She sat down on the only sofa and crossed her arms over her chest. 

"Like I said, you are not going into that thing. No way."

Ghost stomped their foot in frustration and gestured towards the window.

Or rather, to the outside of it.

In the direction of Crystal Peak.

Specifically, towards a crumbling edifice leaning precariously on the edge of it.

"One thing was to fight the Radiance," Hornet said, "another is to transcend into the _past_."

'How is it any different?'

"Well for one, when you fought the Radiance, you did so in a dream. You failed and woke up in Godhome. You could still return home _."_

Ghost mimed a sigh and waved their paws around. 

"Godhome existed within this present, Ghost. It may have been in the Dream Realm, but it was still here."

'Monomon's machine is also here.' 

"But **you** won't be here."

Maybe telling Hornet the machine could ditch them in the past if something went wrong was not such a smart idea either.

"Besides, what assurance have you that your meddling won't change the past and erase our future?"

Ghost paused.

'You have got to stop listening to Brumm's stories. They make you more paranoid.'

Hornet flushed in embarrassment. "Don't change the subject!" She growled, hands coming down to fist on her lap. "You could set everyone up for death."

'But what if I don't?'

"Are you willing to risk all you've achieved for a gamble?"

A gentle knock coming from the doorway interrupted Ghost's rebuttal. Both turned to see their tallest sibling hunching under the wooden frame, the bandages around their face a stark contrast against the darkness beyond the threshold. An almost wary expression had settled over their unmoving mask.

'What's going on?' They signed, long claws moving delicately over one another.

Hornet straightened up and stood to usher the other knight in. "Ghost is being stubborn," she said, making them fold over to sit on the other end of the sofa. She hopped back onto her spot and pinned the shorter vessel with a glare when they tried to sneak out of the room at her distraction.

Their sibling swung their head to look at Ghost. 

'Why?'

Hornet waited, still glaring at the shortest sibling. 

Ghost grumbled under their mask and raised a paw. 

'Monomon has machine, travel to past, fix things.'

A weak nudge prodded at their mind, an equally frail voice whispering after.

**"A journey to the past? How is that possible?"**

**"Void."**

Ghost was somewhat miffed at such a simple explanation, but they were more so annoyed by the simple acceptance of their taller twin, as if they needed no further explanation.

Because Void was just that.

Something "other" that could perform otherworldly feats and defy reality.

No more than a tool.

Damn the old king and everything he did.

"You're clearly talking and I don't know what you're saying," Hornet said, scrutinizing stare shifting between the knights, "but you best be explaining _everything_ to them."

**"Everything?"**

Ghost slapped a paw over their forehead and dragged it down to pinch between their eye sockets. They shook their head and dropped to the ground, crossing their legs beneath them and getting comfortable.

This would take a while.

Again.

**"Plan is to go into the past and see what happened."**

**"If it is information you seek, you can always ask the Great Five. Ogrim would be delighted to share."**

Ghost moved their paw as if waving the suggestion away.

 **"Not** **_that_ ** **kind of information. I want to see exactly when She started showing up again. I want to know** **_why._ ** **"**

Their sibling didn't reach out across their bond for a while. They sat there, unmoving and statue-still in their awkwardly folded position, just taking in the information and processing it, dissecting and trying to find their own reason as to why the little ghost was so adamant in going back.

**"Why not ask Mother."**

Ghost broke from their sibling's stare and lowered their head. They wrung their paws under their cloak and thought of how to best tell them that they didn't consider the White Lady their mother.

Not really.

Though technically she was, she just… wasn't what Ghost thought of when they thought about what a mother should be.

Monomon was a mother to Quirrel.

She praised his discoveries and enthused in his successes, always willing to lend an ear when his latest project reached a dead-end.

Herrah was a mother to Hornet.

She traded the rest of her life to ensure her legacy, yes, but she spent every last bit of it with her daughter, caring and teaching what little she could in the short amount of time they were allowed to spend together. Her first act upon the Dreamers awakening was to almost scalp Ghost in her rush to see her daughter again, only dropping them from a chokehold when the spiderling swung in on silk thread and needle.

They were mothers.

The White Lady was not.

At least, not to Ghost.

 **"I'd rather see for myself,"** they finally said to their lap.

Their twin nodded once and turned to their sister.

'If Ghost wishes to go,' they signed, 'why not let them?'

Hornet stared in disbelief at her older sibling and shot off her perch.

"You too?!"

The vessel was quick to appease her anger.

'Ghost has triumphed over the pantheons. They are a capable warrior. Why not?'

"This danger outweighs their capabilities in battle."

'Not when they are Shade Lord.'

Hornet froze.

How could she forget?

It was always so easy to overlook the fact that this tiny vessel - barely half her height - housed a Higher Being within themselves. Born of two gods and emboldened by another, the ghost had proven time and time again that they were more than capable of looking after themselves. 

And yet she still worried.

At first it was because they could be the salvation Hallownest and Deepnest so desperately needed. They could end the Infection and rid the underground of the curse that plagued it.

But after the Radiance had suddenly disappeared - to her knowledge back then - and the Infection withered away, she felt a twinge of remorse for the loss of the small knight that gave so much and received so little in return. Something within her heart whispered the miraculous disappearance of the plague had to do with the vessel; and when she saw the Hollow Knight stumbling from the chasm of the Black Egg, she knew this was also the ghost's doing. Her needle had been poised for any sudden attack, but the Hollow Knight had simply fallen to their knees with a resounding _crack_ , leaning heavily against their pure nail and shuddering under the stress of holding themself up. Hornet had approached then, guard still raised and needle ready to impale until she caught sight of the broken mask in their half-melted hand.

A very familiar mask, split through the center and weeping void from vacant sockets.

Hornet had sheathed her needle and taken it upon herself to nurse the void siblings to something near healthy again. She had dragged their pieces back up the well and into the lonely town, where the few bugs living there had peeked out of their homes in fright from Her piercing screams. The second they had seen the familiar mask clutched tight in the former vessel's arms, an elderly bug had waddled out of his home and directed their ensemble into the nearest empty house, promising to bring the bare necessities he could scrounge up to their abode post-haste. 

There she had met the sinister moth from the red tents and his musician when they had wandered over to their temporary home. Hornet would have run them through with her needle had it not been for the delirious wave her sibling gave the pair.

The moth had introduced himself as Grimm and the musician as Brumm, and the troupe master claimed to know both the ghost and the vessel. 

She had only allowed them inside for a few minutes to speak with the vessel and observe the sad fragments of the knight's mask before she ushered them out just as swiftly.

One visit became two became three became nine, and soon she could leave for Deepnest knowing that scarlet eyes would watch over her siblings.

Because that was what the little knight was, too.

Her sibling.

A cool touch to her arm brought her attention back to the matter at hand.

Ghost's paw rested on the crook of her elbow. Their head was tilted slightly at a curious angle, horns a tad bit longer than the last time she had seen them a week ago.

They were finally maturing into a proper form like the former vessel's.

Their other paw rose to sign slowly.

'Okay to worry.'

Hornet's shoulders slumped in defeat. She flicked her gaze over to the tallest one in the room. She met with a passive stare, neither judging nor appraising, just being.

She didn't know which was worse.

"Fine."

Ghost perked up.

'Fine?'

"Don't make me repeat myself." 

The smallest knight puffed up in pride.

'Knew you agree.'

Hornet scoffed and rolled her eyes, not seeing how the other knight's shoulders trembled in silent laughter.

"Even if I keep saying no, you would still find ways to disobey and do the impossible, little ghost."

If Ghost could smile, she knew they would have the widest grin aimed at her at this moment.

* * *

Ghost kicked their legs back and forth on the bench. They heard Zote ramble to the few bugs gathered around the shops to their left, something about getting an upper hand against your opponents or stuff like that, and if they strained their hearing just enough, they could pick up on the plucky tunes from Brumm’s accordion to their right. 

Should they tell anyone else what they were thinking of doing? 

Elderbug would surely not understand, content in his obliviousness and simple living. 

The Great Five always grew quiet when asked about their time in the palace before the infection - Ogrim would wring his claws and stutter, Isma would hold her short nail tighter and look away, Dryya’s expression turned cold and her precision sharpened, Hegemol would fume beneath his armor and curse in a language Ghost didn’t know, and Ze'mer would grow even more morose and wail for her departed lover.

The White Lady was simply not an option, no matter how much Ghost was tempted to reach out and repair the non-existent bridge between them.

By process of elimination, Ghost was only left with the Troupe and the other two Dreamers. 

Herrah was as intimidating as she was agile with the needle - which was to say very. Ghost would rather not be strung high with silk in her den again should their words be misconstrued and Herrah assume they would go back in time to risk her dear daughter’s life by possibly changing anything. 

On the other hand, Lurien was a bit… iffy, at the best of times. He hadn’t wanted the seals to break when Ghost had defeated Hornet the first time, yet he hadn’t put up a fight either when Ghost entered his dream and killed him before they found the God Seeker in the Junk Pit. They recalled Ogrim mentioning how Lurien was a close friend to the former king, and that was more than enough to put an end to that train of thought. 

That only left the Troupe. 

The Troupe with an unfinished Ritual and one very annoyed Nightmare King.

Oh well. 

Ghost could always dreamgate themselves out of a fight if the red specter tried anything.

Decision made, the knight hopped off the bench and waved goodbye to Bretta. The beetle was about to wave back before she caught herself, forcing her hand down and turning away from her once savior. 

Clearly she had been listening to Zote too much.

Alright then, she could sit there bitter and alone. 

Ghost trotted past Sly’s shop and followed the red signs to the edge of town. Haunting music grew louder the closer they got to the yawning tents, and they wasted no time in slipping past the idling Grimmsteeds and into the big top. 

They came across Brumm in his usual spot by the entrance, playing to his heart’s content and swaying in place. “Mrmm?” The musician halted his song and lowered his accordion upon noticing them, looking down to meet the knight’s eyes. “Have you come to complete the Ritual?”

Ghost immediately shook their head.

“Very well,” Brumm’s voice sounded like he was holding back a pleased chuckle, “the Master and Child are waiting for you in the back.”

Ghost dashed off down the dim hall to the opening tune of one of Brumm’s newest songs, bypassing the main atrium and rounding the tent until they reached the curtain separating the main tent from the troupe master’s back ‘office.’ They rang the bell attached to the scaffold holding the drapes up. A familiar rasp welcomed them in, and the knight pushed the curtain aside and padded through/

A blur of bright red and black barreled right into their chest, knocking them off their feet and straight onto their back. Excited chitters were muffled by their cloak as six tendrils wrapped tight around their torso. The knight pushed themselves up as best they could with the Grimmchild clinging to them like a leech, only to find Grimm with the largest shit-eating grin across his pale face. 

“Well,” he dropped the quill in his hand back into the inkwell and leant against his arms on the desk, “looks like our child certainly missed you.”

Ghost huffed and managed to stand upright despite a red tail being coiled tight around their waist. 

‘You should let him out more,’ they signed, patting between the child’s horns and earning themselves a contented purr. 

Grimm waved their idea off. 

“He needs supervision, young knight, else he will cause mischief wherever he may go.”

‘So make someone take him then.’

This time, the troupe master did laugh. 

“This caravan will lose all members before anyone aside from Brumm or myself tries to supervise the child. He is quite the expert at getting into places he doesn’t belong.”

Ghost raised their chin in defiance at the other’s pointed stare.

‘Good for him, he’s curious.’

The moth rose from his chair and circled around his desk, rolling his eyes and shaking his head in fondness. “Yes, we are privileged with the opportunity of having such an _exceptional_ troublemaker in our ranks.

“But,” Grimm bowed down to the knight’s height, one claw slipping from his cloak’s folds to poke at the Grimmchild still wrapped tight around them, “you’re not here for pleasantries, are you?”

Ghost mimed a sigh and made their way to the small seating area at the corner of the office. They dropped down onto a floor cushion, sinking into the plush feathers and lifting Grimmchild off their chest. They set him down by their side, where the little bug curled up against them again and sank into the pillow.

Grimm sat much more refined on the chair opposite. He reached into a small cabinet at his elbow and pulled out a bottle and tall glass for himself.

"What brings you back here again if not the Ritual, friend?"

Ghost shot an incredulous look at the moth pouring alcohol from the bottle into the glass.

'I come by many times for other reasons, too.'

"True," Grimm drawled, swirling the burgundy liquid around, “but not with such a heavy air about you. Miserable, almost. Now tell me, what ails you so, dear knight?”

Sometimes Ghost forgot about the fact that Grimm was the literal vessel of a Higher Being, and that things like him knowing when something was troubling someone else were the norm for him. 

Knowing the fact didn’t mean Ghost was any less immune to feeling somewhat disturbed at having their secrets so easily bared.

They took a moment to collect their thoughts, stroking the Grimmchild’s back absentmindedly and thinking of how to best word their response. 

‘I asked a question the other day,’ they started, staring at the red lantern throwing odd shadows across the room at the other end of the office, ‘about what went so wrong in the past.’

Grimm clicked a noise of understanding in the back of his throat. He raised his cup and took a slow sip from it, pooling the bitter alcohol on his tongue before swallowing and gesturing vaguely with the bottom of the glass’s stem. “Yes,” he said, “I do recall you saying such a thing in the last meeting with the Dreamers.” He crossed his legs and leaned back on the high back of his chair. “Why bring this up now?”

Ghost twiddled their paws now that the Grimmchild had been lulled into a nap.

‘Monomon created a machine using Void.’ They signed, vacant gaze shifting to the space between them and the troupe master. ‘It take back to past, find what wrong, help -’

Warm claws closed around their trembling hands. 

The knight looked up and met a red stare. 

The half-empty wine glass rested forgotten on the table beside Grimm.

"This troubles you."

It wasn't a question.

Ghost tried to keep eye contact between them to prove that none of this bothered them, but they soon found that they couldn't keep staring into those glowing eyes that seemed to know all of their secrets.

They slipped their shaky hands free and vaguely signed.

'Not much. Wanna go back but…'

Grimm sat back and picked up his glass again.

"You don't know if you will like what you find." 

Ghost dropped their head and nodded, defeated yet relieved that they didn't need to say it out loud. 

The tall bug sighed softly into his wine.

"The way I see it," he started, grabbing the bottle by his elbow and re-filling his cup, "you don't stand to lose much, little vessel. You have bested the Radiance, the Void answers to your call, and your skills are sharper than any bug's I've encountered in my travels."

Ghost slumped further into their pillow. 

'But what if something happens that I can't defeat?'

Grimm suddenly began to chuckle, much to Ghost's confusion and annoyance.

'What.'

The troupe master flicked his wrist as if brushing their concerns off and covered his jagged smile.

"Do you hear yourself?" He grinned. "Defeated by unseen power? Highly unlikely."

Ghost stamped their paws on their lap.

'You don't know that!'

"But I do!" Grimm crowed. Beside them, Grimmchild wiggled in his sleep, a loopy smile splitting his face as well. "I shouldn't be speaking of this, but the Nightmare King curses your name at times."

Say what now

_'What.'_

Grimm nodded, shit-eating grin back in place. 

"The trials of the pantheon. He detests fighting outside the Ritual, but your challenge rancored him into action. The fact that you best him countless times on your way to the Radiance rankles him even more." 

It wouldn't be the first time Ghost angered a Higher Being to the point of insult.

'What does this have to do with going to the past?'

Grimm's grin couldn't possibly grow any wider, and yet somehow it did.

"Everything."

Ghost could already tell they were going to be here a while.


	3. T-Minus in D-16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The day arrives.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some technical jargon and a new adventure awaits. 
> 
> Stay safe during Spring Break, please.
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

The hours after the clipboard was safely retrieved turned into a day, which then became days. Days grew into weeks, and weeks eventually grew into a month.

Ghost had been sitting on the bench again - this time alone - when a small bug with a white hat trotted up to them.

"Ghost of Hallownest?"

The knight snapped from their light slumber, blinked, and nodded at the courier.

The small bug rummaged through the messenger bag strapped to their shoulder. They pulled out a lightly creased envelope from its depths and pressed it between the knight's paws. 

"Mail from the Archives!" They chirped, tipping their cap at the bemused knight before fluttering off to Dirtmouth's town square.

Ghost watched them go and bump into a cart full of cookware. Loud apologies went ignored as they used their nail to open the envelope and pull out the letter folded neatly inside.

_“Dear Ghost,_

_The seal has been strengthened. Madam Monomon and I are ready for you whenever you wish to come by the Archives. But before you come rushing in, perhaps you should ready a pack to take with you? This is merely a suggestion, of course._

_Eagerly awaiting for your arrival,_

_Quirrel, Teacher's Apprentice.”_

Ghost tuned out halfway through the letter.

It was ready.

The seal was ready.

_The seal was ready!_

They quickly hopped off the bench and stuffed the envelope inside their cloak, the letter clutched tight in their grasp. They patted their belt loops for their geo pouch, growing increasingly more worried the longer they searched for it and couldn't find the little sack. Ghost was about to lift their cloak when they remembered that they had left their money bag in their room earlier that morning.

They charged the Crystal Heart a fraction of its full power and shot off. Ghost weaved between lamp posts and potted plants, pouncing on walls to shoot off them just as swift. They flapped their wings once to break their momentum and skidded to a halt in front of their little home not a minute later. 

The knight hit their nail against the small bell hanging off the awning out of habit as they climbed the small steps onto the porch. They knelt down and felt around under the welcoming mat for the spare house key, hopping up the second they brushed it and twisting the new lock open.

After last time's incident involving their pure nail versus the old keyhole, Hornet had confiscated their nail while she dug around town for a new knob. Ghost's key privileges had been revoked along with their nail. It had been quite the battle of signed words and exasperated rebuttals, yet they had been outnumbered two to one and so the ban remained. The only plus side was that their twin had returned their nail behind Hornet’s back, but even they shook their head when Ghost requested a new house key. 

They still thought it was a wholly unfair decision.

Ghost hid the key again and scampered inside. They beelined for the bedrooms along the back, but first they had to go through the empty living room and kitchen space to reach the short hallway. They were so used to the lively background chatter of their twin talking to themselves - commenting on what new book they had read or what new plant they had potted on the little ledge of their window - that passing by the vacant living room where they usually hung around was a weird experience. 

The former vessel was currently off in the City of Tears helping with the reconstruction effort for the week. They could use their mastery over Soul to help lift heavy objects without the use of elevators, and their unusual strength coupled with their precise movements made them indispensable when dealing with fragile building materials.

Ghost was immensely glad that their sibling was finally venturing outside more often rather than being cooped up in their small home. 

They had been denied freedom and the ability to express themself for so long that it was nice to see them rejoice over the smallest things, whereas before they were much more demure and prone to shut down whenever they “slipped” and showed emotion.

Ghost didn't miss those early days after the final battle with the Radiance and their ascension into Shade Lord. 

Not at all.

The knight headed for their room at the far end of the hallway and wasted no time in throwing the door open. They stepped over the trinkets and collectables scattered over the floor until they reached their small bedside table.

As they dug around for their geo pouch, they began to wonder about what they should take with them on their trip.

They wouldn't be gone too long, so they didn't need to pack heavy. Bare essentials like geo and some bandages for the inevitable scuffles they would get into should suffice.

Ghost briefly considered leaving a letter for their sibling upon their return home from the underground, but they figured that they would be back home before their twin anyway so there would be no need for that.

Oh, they almost forgot!

Their map and quill should come with them - probably some extra parchment too, just in case they discovered new areas lost to time in the glory days of Hallownest.

Ghost fetched their beloved map and quill from their shelf, tucked it into a pocket inside their cloak, and strapped their geo pouch onto their belt. They gave the bag a good few tugs to ensure it was tied securely enough before they shut their drawer and were left to stare at their messy room. 

Should they…?

Nah, they would do it when they got back.

Off to the Stag Station! 

* * *

The hustle and bustle of the Queen’s Station was suffocating. With multiple menderbugs and volunteers pitching in to restore the once grand transit point into a fraction of its former glory, the walkways and platforms were flooded with scrambling bodies and tools. Shouts and loud clanking of hammers striking metal rang loud in Ghost’s ears, but the thing that sent them scrambling out of the station as fast as their cloak and wings could carry them was the horrendously familiar grating of sawblades. 

Their monotonous tune welled up phantom sensations along their mask and body of being sliced and flung and choked one time when their cloak caught onto the tooth of a blade.

Ghost shuddered as they ventured into the Fungal Wastes.

Nope.

They rather deal with the Trial of the Fool ten times over than enter that dream bubble ever again. 

Shrumelings squealed and ran out of their way on their trot by. Shrumal Warriors sprang from their burrows, some still lingering with infection and swift to fall to their nail and those cleansed from it watching in distrust from afar. Fungoons still spat their noxious odor clouds when they dashed beneath them, and the Funglings proved to be great stepping stones for hoisting themselves onto higher ledges. 

The drop into Fog Canyon occurred without preamble. Their usual dance of skirting past explosive Oomas and lingering Uomas became second nature to them as they began to think. 

What would they do first upon reaching the past?

Ghost was so tempted to just break into the White Palace and give the Pale King a good what-for, but they knew that for one, their sibling would most definitely be there - probably healthier and sharper than their present counterpart and on par with the Pure Vessel in the pantheons; and two, the Great Five would be present, plus the whole of the Royal Guard, _plus_ the kingsmoulds. 

Ghost was sure they could take them all on, yet they rather not make themselves public enemy number one so soon after their arrival. 

They needed to gain the Palace’s trust, or at least attain an audience with the King without anyone knowing - again, a difficult plan with their sibling around. As far as Ghost knew about the past, no vessel aside from the Pure Vessel had been allowed out of the Abyss after the door had been sealed. Not their broken kin, not the three dangling from the Nosk’s den, nor the one in Greenpath, yet they had all managed to find a way out of their birthplace.

Ghost had managed to find a way out of their birthplace. 

Their best plan of action would be to find these vessels before the worst came to pass, somehow convince them that they hailed from a distant time in the future, and devise a plan to break into the castle without too many casualties. 

But first, Ghost was going to teach them how to fight. 

The familiar hissing of acid coursing through bronze pipes welcomed them into the Archives. The knight trotted along the well-kempt hallways, following the twists and turns and flights of stairs until they reached the sublevel housing Monomon’s “dangerous experiments” lab.

One of the many, anyway. 

They bumped into Quirrel when they poked their head in. 

“Ah, there you are!” He ushered them inside the lab and over to the long bench. The cluster of tools had been pushed aside in favor of making room for a spread of notes and inkwells. The stained journals from before took center stage on the table, some opened and some stacked atop one another. Sharp handwriting looped elegantly through the pages of the open ones, precise and every stroke done with purpose. Sketches littered the small corners of the paper and wayward ink flecks dotted between the lines, but the writing was overall neatly legible.

Ghost had a strong inkling as to who these journals belonged to once. 

Call it a hunch, but they just did. 

“I’m not sure if you can read the handwriting, friend,” Quirrel said, his gloved finger carefully poking at a piece of text on one of the smaller journals, the kind for quick field studies and notes. “But this here mentions how void can still react negatively with void.”

Ghost paused and tilted their head almost horizontal on their shoulders. 

‘What?’

Quirrel nodded excitedly at their confusion and picked up the book. 

“Yes, it’s quite strange, isn’t it? The Madam and I had assumed void to be a unified entity - sort of like hot spring water combining with cold water from a tap, but the research here shows that void used for one purpose becomes ‘tainted’ and may be rejected by the ‘purer’ mass.”

An uneasy feeling began to encroach on Ghost’s previous excitement.

‘So what does that mean?’ They signed nervously. 

The pillbug sensed their unease and quickly made to reassure them. “It’s nothing major to worry about, little ghost! The notes here state that the two masses eventually became one and didn’t produce any harmful reactions, they simply rejected each other at first before they came together in the end. You should be fine - ”

Ghost heaved a relieved sigh.

“But!”

They tensed again.

“We still made this safety cloak for you to wear inside the drum, just in case worse comes to worse.”

They deflated.

Quirrel chuckled good-naturedly. He set the journal down and gently patted their shoulder. “It’s alright,” he said, his other hand reaching for a white travel cloak with hood, “the Madam and I would rather be safe than sorry. This is the first time someone who's alive would be going into the drum, so we want this to go as smoothly as possible.

“Of course,” Quirrel straightened again and moved to reach for another tool on the table, “you can always retire from the experiment and we can go into another testing phase - ”

Ghost snatched the cloak from the taller bug’s palm and threw it over themself, fastening the clasp under their chin and staring at the apprentice. 

Quirrel grinned and guided the knight to a rolling chair nearby. 

“I’ll take that as a no, then.”

Ghost crossed their arms and nodded, firm. They watched Quirrel putter around with an odd looking shellwood stick and a vial containing a glowing silver liquid as they hoisted themself onto the chair. 

‘What is that for?’ They asked. Quirrel looked up from fiddling with the narrow end of the stick. 

“This?” He held up the vial and tool.

At Ghost’s nod, he grabbed a towel from a bench drawer and made his way over. 

“It’s for the seal,” he said, stopping beside the knight and going back to messing with the shellwood stick. 

Ghost perked up and leaned forward on their seat. Their paws hovered before them, wanting to reach for the vial to inspect the liquid inside but uncertain on whether they’d be allowed to touch it. Thankfully, Quirrel passed the small bottle to them the more he struggled with the tool.

‘Where going to go?’ The knight signed with one hand, half distracted by the other paw holding the precious cargo.

They tipped the flask to-and-fro and watched how the glowing fluid followed the tilt. It flowed from one end to the other, not quite dense like honey but not quite smooth like water, either. Bursts of white light pulsed faintly from within the silver, but if Ghost tried to stare at them for too long, they seemed to disappear under their eyes.

Quirrel made of soft noise of success when he finally managed to pry the tip of the shellwood stick open. A small needle-like protrusion extended from it and glinted under the overhead lights. 

“The seal has to be drawn on one part of your body for it to take root,” he explained, accepting the vial back from Ghost and pulling the stopper out. “Given the unique composition of yourself, the Madam thought it best to use an infused substance rather than normal ink. Think of it as a stronger replacement.”

‘Magic?’

Quirrel quirked a smile under his mask.

“Something like that.”

The pillbug stepped back to take in the sight of the knight sitting on the rolling chair. The mask would be the most obvious place to etch the seal into, but given their propensity for battle, it may be in risk of damage. Their chest had that strange charm embedded into it, and Quirrel wasn’t about to ask such invasive questions if he could avoid them. That left…

“Your hand, please.”

Ghost tilted their head.

‘My hand? Are you going to put it there?’

Quirrel tilted the vial until the fluid reached the mouth of the tube and dipped the stick’s needle into it. He left the needle submerged for a few seconds, carefully rolling the tool between his fingers to coat it completely before pulling it out and plugging the vial again. 

“It’s the best spot for it, yes. Which one do you hold your nail with?”

Ghost raised their left paw and stuck out their right one. 

Quirrel pulled up his own rolling chair from under the table and scooted closer to the knight. He grasped the soft paw with his opposite hand and hovered the glowing needle over it.

“It shouldn’t hurt,” he said, voice patient yet serious at the same time. Ghost sat up a tad bit straighter at it. “But if it starts to sting, tell me and I’ll stop. It’ll only be cold at first contact, okay?”

Ghost nodded. They held the absolute stillest that they could and only winced when the needle descended on their paw and began to trace the silver liquid over the black. To say it was cold was like saying the Radiance had only been a buzzing lumafly lamp - the fluid was positively freezing on their skin. 

They watched, intrigued and fascinated, as Quirrel drew curves and lines with short precise strokes. The seal extended down to their wrist and took up most of the back of their hand, and if Ghost squinted hard enough at it, the delicate lines almost appeared to be pulsing in time with each brush of the needle. Quirrel began to mumble under his breath as he began to dot spots between intersecting lines, chanting some words in a language Ghost didn’t know. The louder the chant became, though, the more the seal began to glow until it shimmered bright between their bent heads. 

Quirrel pulled back the stick and set it aside on a nearby tray. He grabbed the towel and dropped it over the knight’s brilliant paw, wrapping the length of it tight around the seal until not even the slightest wisp of light filtered through. His hands rubbed the folds of the towel over the short limb, jostling the knight and almost knocking them off their seat.

“Sorry,” Quirrel scrubbed the section of towel directly over the seal vigorously, “I have to wipe any excess off. The less of it on you, the better.”

Ghost raised their free hand and signed.

‘Why?’

The pillbug shrugged. 

"Madam Monomon's orders. Apparently this ink is too strong to leave to chance. Best to not risk any side effects, right?" 

Ghost nodded.

After one last rigorous shake, Quirrel removed the towel and revealed the seal underneath. It didn't glow anymore, but it did appear to shimmer as Ghost tilted their paw this way and that to get a better look at it.

"That takes care of that."

Ghost turned and watched Quirrel stand from his chair and cross over to the machine's switchboard. He pressed a bright yellow button and leaned into an odd mesh-covered item protruding from the area next to the button.

"Madam."

The knight jumped when Quirrel's amplified voice rang clear from the high ceilings. 

"Procedures are ready to begin in lab D-16." 

* * *

It took Monomon around ten minutes to arrive, but when she did, Ghost heard her before they saw her. 

Her cloak hung heavy from her mask, drenched in acid like the rest of her as she glided for the control panel. 

"Hello once again, Young Knight!" She bowed, clearly happy at seeing them return for the experiment. "Has Quirrel briefed you on the procedures?"

Ghost nodded up at her. 

Quirrel had returned to his chair not long after his announcement through the intercom system and begun to explain to Ghost what they could expect from the machine. 

There were four layers to the contraption: the protective outer metallic shell, the second outermost layer where acid was pumped into and spun at high speeds to stimulate the rest of the system into action, the third ring where the water pumps dispensed cool water to regulate the machine's temperature, and the fourth layer surrounding the drum itself. On the space between the drum and the water pumps was where a controlled level of void was released to boost the drum's effectiveness. 

Each layer could work independent from the rest, but they all needed to be in sync with one another at the two minute mark. If something went wrong and one layer showed an anomaly, then the procedure would be halted immediately and Ghost would be extracted from the drum; but if everything went according to plan and the full-sync occured, then the lumafly tubes would be activated to jump-start the machine into action. 

The sudden charge from the angered lumaflies would provide enough energy and power for the void to consume and follow the commands inputted by the switchboard, effectively pulling the knight into a bend between space-time and spit them back out the other side in their desired destination.

From then on, the knight would be given six days to perform whatever duties they needed to do before the seal on their paw began to glow bright and activated a spell that would link the past and present for a short window. This link would allow Quirrel to pinpoint where Ghost was and transport them safely home through another bend in space-time.

Of course, since no living creature had ever been sent through the machine, no trial evidence existed aside from the inanimate object results. Everything the experiment banked on depended on calculations and theoretical analysis.

In summary, Ghost would either end up in the past or have a mask-splitting headache by the end of the day.

That's another thing Quirrel mentioned would happen.

Given the force of the drum and the amount of magic exerted by it, if Ghost did come out the other side in the past, they would more than likely spend the first day out of commission suffering from the possible side effects of time travel.

Disorientation, a pounding headache, intense nausea, the world tilting all over the place the moment they tried to stand, a strong feeling of déjà-vu at their surroundings, and - perhaps most importantly - strong feelings of desperation at events that technically hadn't happened yet.

 _No big deal,_ Quirrel had chuckled at the knight's horrified silence.

Ghost had been thinking over their plan of action after the apprentice had moved on to start priming the machine. They couldn't lose a day when time was already so short, but they still needed to find a way to get information. There were three places where they could attain the knowledge they needed: the Watcher's Spire, the Teacher's Archives, and the White Palace itself.

Two out of those three posed an extremely high risk, but they also had the largest payoff.

The third one depended on when in the past they landed, as Quirrel had once shared that the Archives' sublevels had been used to hold infected bugs and keep them away from the general population.

If they found infected bugs around them, then Ghost knew they hadn't gone far enough and the whole plan was a bust.

Half of Ghost still didn't know what exactly they would be looking for.

A sign?

A book?

A bug?

Pits, would it even be part of the physical realm?

The pommel of their Dream Nail hung heavy from their belt.

It would be much easier to break into people's minds and read their secrets.

Wait.

_That's it._

The Dream Nail!

The Moth Tribe!

The Seer had lamented the passing of her brethren during the infection, which meant that in a time before it, they still existed. They may have forgotten about the Radiance, but surely there must still be hidden tablets within the Resting Grounds that spoke of Her.

If Ghost could manage to find them then they would be able to learn about the goddess and rectify the wrong.

They could bring peace to the forgotten goddess.

They could… _help_ the Radiance be remembered.

But could they?

Would they?

_Should they?_

Ghost was stumped.

On one hand, they may be able to get rid of a part of the problem before it even began.

On the other hand, helping the cause of such despair felt… wrong, like betrayal.

Ghost shook themselves off and hopped off the chair when Monomon had finally arrived at the sublevel.

They would worry about this when they got there.

Now, watching as Monomon finished the last of the preparations and Quirrel slipped into his protective body suit, Ghost padded over and stood by the lip of the dais.

This was it.

No backing out.

Quirrel soon came to stand at their side closest to the machine. 

"You ready, little buddy?" He asked, hand reaching for the safety clasps on the windowed door. 

Ghost stepped up onto the platform.

"We'll take care of the rest out here," Quirrel said, opening the latch and helping the knight climb inside the drum. "You just sit tight in here."

The absolute silence of the drum pressed down on all sides once the door had been closed and sealed tight. The glass in front of Ghost offered them a limited view of the room; and if they leaned a bit to the side, they could see Quirrel and Monomon, now dressed in a protective veil of her own, standing behind the long iron screen. 

A faint hissing sounded from the left, and Ghost knew the acid had begun making its way in.

A soft click sounded from below, and Ghost knew the water had begun to cycle around.

A strong pulse came from their chest, and Ghost knew void had begun to encroach around the drum. 

They waited for the crackle of electricity.

And waited.

And wai-

Ghost jerked away from the rough gravel digging into their mask.

They were face down on the ground, and their bleary gaze met with a grayscale landscape of multiple shades.

Gray stones, gray floors, gray cavern walls, pallid thistle bushes.

Dreary atmosphere.

… Howling winds.

The knight forced themselves to stand. The white seal around their paw stood out stark clear against the patch of shadow stretching over them. 

Their cloaks whipped furiously around them.

Could it…

No.

Ghost froze to the spot once they realized that the familiar glowing roots, unearthed from the ground and reaching like drowning hands to land, were nowhere to be found.

_No._

They forced themselves to turn around. They wanted to scream, they wanted to howl and rage and release the anger now swirling in the pits of their stomach.

But they remained still as they turned.

Inch.

By inch.

By tortuous inch. 

And there, _right there_ , looming high above them and brushing the roof of the high caverns:

A ring of magnificent and sharp ivory horns

Stabbing, defiant, out of a freshly deceased corpse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ghost is in for it now.


	4. Grave in Ash

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _None of this is real._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to say that I am amazed. Barely three chapters in and already at 1k hits?? 
> 
> **Amazing.**
> 
> A lot of you will be crying and doing things you swore upon with this chapter.
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

Ghost stumbled back on too-weak legs. 

No. 

_No._

_No!_

_They weren't supposed to end up this far!_

Shaking paws shot up to clench around their horns. 

This must be a dream. 

A nightmare.

Yes!

A nightmare!

This must be the Nightmare King finally taking his vengeance on them. After all those times they challenged the scarlet specter to duel one-on-one between breaks from the last pantheon, he must have finally grown tired of them and decided to twist their dreams into nightmares.

He must have sprung on them after they had fallen asleep inside the drum. The hum of the machine must have lulled them to sleep, and any moment now Quirrel would knock on the window pane, laugh at them for napping in the middle of such an exciting experiment, and break the Nightmare King's hold on their mind.

Any second now.

 _Any_ second.

Just a little while more.

...

Who were they kidding.

This wasn't the Nightmare Realm.

There wasn't enough red for that, neither was there an eerie _thump-thump-thump_ from that damn disturbing heart.

This wasn't the present.

There wasn't a Quirrel who would wake them up and laugh with them, neither was there a Hornet or their taller twin here to speak of their day around the warm fire in their small home. 

This wasn't _home._

Ghost's knees finally gave out from under them and they fell hard. Their claws dug into the cracked earth of Kingdom's Edge, or what would come to be known as it in the distant future.

They had overshot their mark.

They had gone too far back to be useful to anyone.

The seal on the back of their right hand pulsed with a silver glow, catching their vacant stare and prompting them to clench it tighter around the fistful of gravel digging into their palm.

Ghost hunched in on themselves, shoulders trembling with mounting rage and wings flapping in anger under their cloaks. 

They had gone too far back, and now everything was **ruined**.

The knight reared up on their knees and threw their arms wide. Soul and shadows coursed through their body and erupted from them with a piercingly loud shriek.

Again.

And again

And again they wailed.

In disappointment, in rage, in terror, but most of all in grief.

Their one chance at the past and they had blown it. 

The howling winds carried the sounds of their screams through the caverns. They echoed and warped, overlapping into terrifying cries that curdled the void in their body and made them tense to fight against unseen enemies. 

Ghost felt the exhaustion from soul deprivation and fell forward again. They curled in on themselves on the unforgiving ground, unwilling to look at the carcass of the wyrm anymore.

The cold and stiff carcass, laying broken amidst recently upturned soil and shattered stone.

The knight remained there for an unknown amount of time. Inky tears beaded at the corners of their eyes, but they refused to let them fall on this silent land. They wouldn’t feed this grave with their sorrow - not then, not ever.

A flame of defiance suddenly began to spark in their chest when they remembered something once told to them.

The Wyrm came to this land to die.

Crawling and burrowing passages through the underground with its gargantuan size, it buried itself deep beneath the surface and found a silent repose in which to take its final breath. 

The Wyrm came to die, and from it a pale spawn was born.

If the soil around them was still soft and wet when they placed their paw over it for inspection, and if the sides of the cavern around them had hideously jagged scars gouged deep into their stone when they turned blurry eyes to stare, then that meant...

Ghost shot up from their fetal position and drew their pure nail just as swift from their back. They sprang away from the open maw of the corpse and stood a few feet away, hand clenched tight around their nail's grip and glare unwavering from the body before them.

There was no way of knowing if the Pale King had risen from his own corpse already. No decay had started to fall from the body of the wyrm, and there was no way Ghost was going to willingly venture inside the beast's maw to check the egg for themselves. 

The silent stalemate between knight and carcass lasted for all of ten seconds before a faint yet ominously loud crack ripped through the wind. 

A loud crack coming from _inside_ the body.

Their whole being buzzed with shadows ready to strike as the cracking noises intensified in frequency. Creaking from the body's bones rang lowly around them, but Ghost held their ground firm, unflinching and unwavering when the corpse groaned.

The all too familiar anger swelled within as they witnessed what must be the rebirth of the White Wyrm. Bits of void essence leaked from where their nail's grip had pierced the palm of their hand, yet the knight felt nothing from it as they readied to fight whatever crawled out of the corpse.

They distantly wondered what the Pale King's fighting style would be.

Would it be like the Pure Vessel's? A combination of nail and spells, of soul and violence that forced Ghost out of the pantheons so many times?

Or would it be like the Radiance? A barrage of attacks both aerial and grounding, of spells and holy spears raining down upon them in retribution?

Ghost shoved these thoughts from their mind.

Whatever style the fraud of a king used, they would be more than ready to cut him down where he stood and show them what happened when he dabbled with Void.

This defeat would surely deter him from entering and messing with the Abyss in the future. 

A faint silver glow began to grow closer and brighter from within the chasm of the wyrm. 

Ghost crouched and lunged forward to get a surprise attack in on their opponent -

Only to skid to a halt and drop their nail in shock at what came tumbling out of the Wyrm's maw.

A bright, _writhing, crying_ **_abomination_** half the size of themselves flopped from between the ring of ivory horns. It raised its wobbling, trembling head and wailed a shrill cry. It looked around its surroundings and dragged itself forward over the grey ground on frail limbs. Sticky fluids clung to its white body like a second skin, a disturbing web of orange and yellow and glowing silver spreading all over its flesh. 

It mewled and clicked and wriggled on its front as it tangled itself on its own long tail. 

Ghost stared. 

Disturbed and entranced, they couldn’t help but stare at the horrible scene playing out in front of them.

They stared at the pathetically squirming worm that kept whistling and searching for, for…

For anyone, really.

The knight wavered and shuffled a step back, their foot colliding with a pebble and sending it skittering away on the gravel. 

Filmy eyes clouded by a yellow veil whipped around to meet Ghost's own horrified ones, and the newly hatched _thing_ released another haunting wail, this one somehow different from the last ones as it reached out with all four of its arms in their direction.

Begging.

Pleading.

Wanting.

 _Pits, no_. 

Ghost immediately swooped down to snatch their nail from the ground and dashed away in the opposite direction. The wind at their back pushed them forward and swallowed all of the worm's squall. They could have cried in relief when they saw the wall leading out of the grave - instead, the knight stabbed their claws into the compacted soil and took it upon themselves to force their way up and out of this nightmarescape. 

There was absolutely no way.

Absolutely no way they had just seen what they did.

Ghost doesn't know how he did it, but the Nightmare King must have quite the imagination to string them along this far.

Because that's just what this really had to be.

A bad dream.

It just had to be.

There was no way they had seen that same ring of crowned horns above the thing's eyes.

Ghost dashed over acid pools and flew over tall cliff formations. The lack of ash piles somehow made Kingdom's Edge seem even more dreary than it did in the present, something which Ghost had once thought impossible and yet here they were. 

Facing the impossible.

Again.

The knight only slowed down once they had placed enough distance between them and the cast-off shell to prevent the blinded wyrm from following them. They dragged their aching feet into a walk through the silent caverns, taking in their new-old surroundings and feeling the dreaded disorientation Quirrel warned them about. 

Pale bushes grew sparsely between the crumbling stones - the only spot of color aside from the grey and black of the caves. They caught the barest glimpse of thin roots burrowing into the soil around them, but they appeared to be too young and brittle to serve any other purpose than to be anchors for future ones. 

The White Lady's senses must be blind to this section of the future Hallownest, something which Ghost found themselves immensely grateful for.

The knight came to a stop on a cluster of eroded rocks. They checked around for any of the common bugs found in the Kingdom’s Edge of their present that could encroach on them when they least expected it, but they hadn't encountered any in their journey here at all now that they thought about it.

Either they didn't exist just yet or the shockwaves of the digging Wyrm must have scared them off into hiding for the time being. 

Ghost digressed and counted it as a stroke of good luck in their favor. 

They trotted over to the smoothest rock in the group and hoisted themselves onto it. The double padding of their cloaks softened their seat on the weathered stone, and Ghost slumped when the events of the past few minutes finally came crashing down on them.

They refused to believe that squirming thing to be the Pale King. 

They knew the Pale King had emerged from an egg - one they had seen for themselves and received the King's Brand from; and yet they had always assumed the wyrm to have been born an adult.

They recalled Bardoon telling them how the Wyrm came to these lands here to die, of how he thought death was no more than a step towards transformation for ancient beings such as him.

Ghost just hadn't thought the transformation-into-rebirthing aspect to be quite so literal. 

It made much more sense for an adult to have overthrown the Radiance from her throne and then built Hallownest atop the ashes.

How else would he have done it wriggling about like _that_ _?_

Exhaustion settled over them the more convoluted their thoughts became. Their head drooped on their shoulders, and if they shuffled just a little bit to the left and pulled their protective cloak over themselves as a makeshift blanket… 

Ghost slipped into a fitful slumber.

A determined wyrm crept away from its once-body.

The seal thrummed bright.

* * *

The first thing Ghost noticed upon waking from their nap was an odd weight on their lap. They straightened and scrubbed a paw over their sleepy eyes, rubbing away their blurry vision and surveying the rock cluster they had settled in for a second time. 

Nothing still.

The vessel shrugged and reached for the nail laying across their legs.

Their hand recoiled sharply when it bumped into something that was decidedly _not_ their nail.

Their head snapped down to stare at, at… 

At the muddy, dirty, glowing worm from earlier.

Huh.

So none of that had been a dream.

Ghost watched their hand move as if detached from their body. It hovered in uncertainty over the small ring of horns, short and slim yet still wickedly sharp as any nail forged by a blacksmith. The sheer cold stabbing relentlessly into their side and back confused them, and it wasn't until they lifted their lower cloak did they realize the worm had wrapped its mud encrusted body around them to press flush against their own. 

When the numbness of shock subsided and they came back to their own head, a faint sound caught their attention. It sounded like the rumbling of ancient stone about to give way and cause a cave in. The knight straightened as best they could with the extra weight on them and looked around hurriedly for any signs of imminent danger.

No falling dirt clumps or crumbling rocks.

No trembling, either.

Nothing.

Ghost paused, hesitated, and leaned their mask down.

The rumbling noise was coming from the Wyrm.

From _inside_ the Wyrm.

Oh Pits, no.

Ghost panicked and scrambled from the rock. Their legs raised and kicked the air, startling the sleeping wyrm and dislodging it from their lap with a startled cry. Four sets of tiny claws dug deep into their cloak and clung on tight to hold onto the wriggling knight. Ghost's arms pinwheeled to keep their balance on the rock and wiggle away from the worm's grip at the same time, but they still tumbled off their seat and onto the hard ground below. 

At least the worm had let go to avoid a tumble itself.

Ghost wasted no time and rolled to their feet. Scraps from the bottom end of their cloaks had been torn away and were now fisted tight between the white claws of the whimpering creature. It coiled its tail around the space Ghost had previously been on, nose prodding at the empty spot and whimpers turning into loud whines.

The knight turned and fled again, ignoring the fearful cries echoing behind them.

Ghost ran until they reached the yawning abyss where the Colosseum of Fools threw the bodies of defeated warriors away. Gentle winds and soft gurgling welcomed them into the central cavern where they stood at the edge of one of the upper cliffs. They drew their cloaks around them to ward off the lingering chill and chanced a peek down into the chasm. 

The cliff range looked wholly unaltered from the one in the future. The waterfalls of acid accumulating in the hissing pit of the gorge below bubbled so loudly in the calm silence. The fossilized shells embedded into the cavern walls loomed large and ancient, and if Ghost squinted down into the gloom, they noticed that the water drain pipes from the city were missing entirely from the western walls separating the future Hallownest from the Edge.

Ghost stepped away from the precipice and tilted their head back. Their view was blocked by some parts of the cliff face, yet they could see just enough through the fluorescent light bearing down on them that the higher sections of this area were also mostly the same with the exception of the roots stabbing out into the vacant space.

Their wings ached on their back for a chance to be used after spending a good while being ignored. The last time Ghost had used them was back in Fog Canyon when they had slipped off a ravine, and now they were itching to spread again in the wide space.

It wouldn’t hurt to stretch them out, so Ghost took a running start and hurled themself off the cliff they stood on. Without the hovering booflies or primal aspids littering the outcroppings and posing any danger to them, the knight allowed themselves to free-fall. Ghost flapped their wings once to move away from a jagged ledge, twice to slow their descent, and none to fold against their back as they came within range of the metal platform waiting for them below -

Only for Ghost to plummet right on by the short ledge and bounce mask-first off the bottom of the gorge into the lake. 

They floated face down on the warm acid.

They stared, vision swallowed up by the pulsing green.

The platform hadn't been there.

The platform hadn't -

Of course it hadn't been there.

No one was there to build it yet.

Ghost flipped to float on their back.

Their eyes found the rocky ledge where the metal platform stabbed out into the chasm.

Empty.

Obviously.

* * *

After floating away on the acid and deeper into the cave network with the currents, Ghost paddled onto a nearby surf and flopped face down on the gravel shore. Their cloaks fanned around them, the hood of the white one slapping wetly behind their head, and arms splayed wide in front of them.

This was all so confusing. 

First, they appeared in front of the Wyrm carcass.

Second, they had witnessed its rebirth.

Third, they were accosted by the thing that crawled out of it.

Now they had to separate what they knew of the future from the landscape of this current present.

Easier said than done when they had traversed these caverns so many times already.

Quiet shuffling roused them from their melancholic thoughts, and they raised their head just enough to prop their chin on the harsh gravel.

Across the shore and closer to the of entrance of a tunnel, an approaching white light caught their eye. They lamented their lack of a voice and groaned when a small dirty face peeked around the craggy side of a rock. 

Of course.

Of _fucking_ course.

Ghost cursed viciously in their mind and pressed their face back into the gravel.

If they didn't acknowledge the muddy thing, it may just think them dead and wander away. 

Hopefully.

A cold nudge nosing along their horns made them clench their hands and fist loose pebbles in their palms. 

No such luck.

Ghost stayed still. They ignored the insistent chitters and gentle pokes, ignored the small paws patting at their cheeks and the brush of downy feathers tickling their neck. They only stiffened when the cold of the worm crawled under their cloaks, circled in place for a moment, and coiled against their side. The rough grit caking its skin chafed at their soft body, and the gentle vibrations from its contented rumble made their head spin.

They were never going to be able to clean their room again at this point.

* * *

Ghost refused to look at the tiny chirping wyrm toddling behind them. 

They had risen from their slump on the shore after a good few hours - or what they assumed were hours - of brooding. The thing snuggled against their flank had raised its head the second they had shifted, clearly having learned its lesson the first time Ghost had thrown it off. Its inquisitive click had gone unanswered, and it unraveled from the ball it had curled itself into to watch as Ghost stood and dusted their cloaks off. The knight had set off then without another word, pulling their map from their pocket and watching where Wayward Compass led them.

Ten minutes in and the knight had yet to find themself on the map.

A loud trill from behind had Ghost turning before they realized they were moving, map limp on their hold and paw itching for their nail on instinct.

They found the dirty wyrm pawing at a spiraled fossil a few feet away. Little claws poked and prodded at the shell, visibly delighting in the way it clattered and rolled with every nudge. 

…

Moving on.

Ghost huffed in exasperation and turned ahead again. They snapped their map open and cursed when their charm finally showed them - though they were nowhere near the charted areas of the Edge.

Maybe it hadn’t been such a smart idea to let the currents drag them away. 

A tug on their cloak brought them to a halt once more.

Ghost crumpled the edges of the parchment in their fists and glared down.

The wyrm cooed up at them. One lower paw held onto the fossil and raised it, presenting it to Ghost as if it were a unique piece of treasure to be admired. 

The knight stared at the offering, rolled up their map in one hand, and reached for the fossil with the other. The wyrm gurgled happily, its white glow brightening and illuminating the walls around them, and squealed when the knight chucked the fossil further down the cavern in the opposite direction. It scampered after the fossil as Ghost wasted no time in moving the other way. 

Ghost hoped the thing became too engrossed with its makeshift toy and forgot about following them. 

Quick pitter-pattering catching up to them immediately dashed that notion. 

The wyrm tugged at their cloak again, and thus began a passive-aggressive game of fetch.

Ghost would throw the fossil as hard as they could in whatever random tunnel they came across and the worm would chase after it, gurgling and bubbling the whole way through. If it weren’t for its faint glow, Ghost would believe the wyrm gone with all the mud caking its skin making it blend into the dreary landscape. 

Alas, no luck. 

The wyrm remained.

The pair came across a crossroads in the cave network. The tunnel in front of them was as dried and rocky as the way they had come from was, but the tunnels stretching across were freshly dug and upturned. Wet soil clumped at the edges of the shafts, splintered fragments of stones littered the pathways, and deep scars gouged across the walls. 

The White Wyrm had clearly passed through here on its way for death. 

Ghost cast their gaze side to side, squinting hard into the depths of the perpendicular burrow. Perhaps they should explore this new tunnel - it could possibly lead them to a way back out into the central cliff range of Kingdom’s Edge; and if it didn’t, then maybe it would guide them back onto a path where Wayward Compass could activate and help them figure out their way from there.

First, though, they wanted to document every new twist and turn they had memorized from their journey so far, so with a single nod of determination, the knight walked to the center of the intersection and sat down on a soft mound of dirt. 

The wyrm padded after them and settled a few inches away from their knees, fossil clenched tight in-between its paws and filmy eyes looking around curiously. It hummed under its breath, tail wagging slowly over the gravel and sending pebbles plinking away. 

The cold wafting off its body made Ghost shiver under their layers. They once again ignored the thing and settled the map of their present on the ground in front of them. The many pins and notches attached to the parchment weighed it down over the fresh soil. The colored shells glittered in the white light, absentmindedly reminding Ghost of the countless adventures behind each pin. 

The red one near the Ancient Basin stood for the Grimmkin that had clubbed them so hard over their mask that they couldn't see straight for a good while. The gold one at the summit of Crystal Peak was for the strange, warded off temple they found there - they had been meaning to ask the Seer about that one before they became occupied with other stuff and lost the opportunity.

The knight shook the phantom memories from their head and pulled out a rolled up wad of extra parchment from their cloak’s inside pocket. Their short claws picked a few small pieces from the bundle, and once satisfied with the amount they had on their lap, they stuffed the remaining papers away back into their safe space. Their quill was plucked out of its hidden inseam, and with a dip of the sharp tip into the soft void of their body, Ghost began to sketch a rough outline. 

Their world narrowed down to their strokes over the empty paper. Tunnels and chasms and cliffs began to take shape, hidden passageways covered by crumbling walls and false floors revealing themselves under their quill. Soon, a crude map of everything they had recently seen lay between their paws, and they hummed mutely in success to themselves. They rolled this new map up and tied it with a simple twine, setting it aside by their feet as they turned to gather their larger map from the floor.

It was not where they had left it.

Ghost bolted to their feet. They spun in place, looking all over the intersection for their map. 

_It’s not like the map can move by itself_ , they thought, _it has no legs!_

It was at that moment that they remembered their - unfortunate - companion.

_Oh no._

Ghost almost fell over themselves in their haste to turn around. They easily found the wyrm a few feet away. Their map was held loosely in its paws, the fossil shell clearly forgotten, and its nose was poking at the colorful pins scattered about on the paper. 

A twinge of annoyance tainted by anger flared in their chest, but Ghost swallowed it down and approached slowly. 

Those tiny claws may be small, but the parchment was thin and worn with use. Any false move and it would rip under the weight of the ink and pins. 

Ghost stood before the dirty wyrm and kicked a pebble to catch its attention. The clattering noise distracted the wyrm from the map, and when it looked up and saw the knight, its tail wagged happily behind it. It clicked at them, jostling the map between its paws. 

Ghost thrust out a hand in silent demand. 

The wyrm blinked and tilted its head.

Ghost gestured with their hand forcefully. 

The wyrm giggled and bobbed its head in response. 

_Oh, fuck it._

Ghost grabbed dirty paws - eliciting a delighted cry from the thing - and pried the soft parchment from them. The Nightmare King must have been feeling merciful then, because the paper came out unharmed. The knight dropped its paws as if burned and promptly marched away back to their seat. 

The burbling wyrm took it as a sign to follow. 

And froze halfway through. 

Ghost didn’t notice, too preoccupied in rolling up their maps and stashing away their tools. 

They did hear when the wyrm began to whimper in fear and threw a glance over their shoulder, already irritated with the rapid mood swings. 

The wyrm was staring straight ahead away from them, down the fossilized tunnel, clouded eyes wide and tail thumping wildly against the ground. 

Ghost followed their terrified stare and whipped out their nail at the sight of a shadow hurtling towards them.

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback would be greatly appreciated! <3


End file.
